Bloody Oath
by Sunnykisses
Summary: After his death, Ewen Keenan's body returns to Australia to be buried next to his family. However, Ewen's spirit is confined to the hospital until he can make things right with the man he wronged the most. He is invisible to all except Patrick Drake. Together, they work to find the missing Robin with the help of the Scorpio family and a few helping hands. No slash. Scrubs.
1. Initial Death

Bloody Oath

General Hospital

Chapter one

* * *

**A/n:** I, for one, thought Ewen Keenan was a really good character for Port Charles, a town badly needing psychiatric help. Turning him into this murdering henchman was not part of his character. Oh well. I guess I'll just have to make do on Fanfiction.

The first scene (the flashback), is somewhat word-for-word from Ewen's death scene. September 15 was Nathin Butler's last day playing Dr. Ewen Keenan.

This story is based loosely on the television show Supernatural's episode "In My Time of Dying" (season two, episode one).

There is a vague, slightly religious overtone to this story.

**Summary:** Ewen Keenan's body returns to Australia to be buried next to his family. However, Ewen's spirit is confined to the hospital until he can make things right with the man he wronged the most. He is invisible to all except Patrick Drake. Together, they work to find Robin with the help of the Scorpio family.

**Pairings: **Patrick/Robin, Robert/Anna, Ewen/Elizabeth, Steve/Olivia, Dante/Lulu

* * *

September 15, 2012—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

"_Steve..." Dr. Ewen Keenan, bloodied and bruised, pleaded with the doctor attending him. He knew he was dying. "It's too late. I…I heard what the nurse said," he cringed, shying away from Steve's rough touches. Ewen had kidnapped Steve's sister, and he wasn't letting Ewen forget how angry he was with him. "I…I heard what she said about my condition, I'm a doctor-"_

"_Doctors heal people!" Steve hissed, eyes ablaze with a fury Ewen was unaccustomed to. Steve was usually so calm and collected. He stared at Ewen's perspiring body and pained expression. "They don't hurt people." His voice softened. Ewen wanted to push Steve away and out of the room. He wanted to die. He was a horrible, horrible person. _

"_I know what it all means," Ewen pressed on, pushing through the growing pain in his stomach where Jason Morgan had shot him. "I'm dying. Surgery would be a waste of time!"_

"_We can still try…" Steve was unconvinced by the dying man's pleas. _

"_No! No…not today. There are people that need you more. Help them. Le-Let me go." The pain was almost unbearable, now. Every wrong Ewen had ever committed seemed to weigh above his head, taunting him endlessly. "Please," his eyes filled with tears. He couldn't decide if the things he had done made him cry or the bullet wound. "P-please, Steven. Look at what I've done."_

_Steve looked away. His shoulders slumped. Ewen knew he was a good man, and any hatred he felt towards him was pushed aside at his dying hour. He offered to call someone for him, to get a priest. Ewen swallowed hard. He stopped believing in God after his father lost his money and his family was forced to fend for themselves. He asked for one person, spitting his name out in his pain. _

"_Get me Patrick Drake."_

_Patrick arrived unsteadily, eyes as angry as Steven's had been. Ewen knew exactly why Patrick was so angry and sad. Dammit, he had taken his wife away from Patrick. He could not hope for forgiveness, but he hoped to make things right. Patrick had a right to know._

"_Patrick…" Ewen started. Patrick stared at him dully. The sight of his bloodied body did not bother the neurosurgeon. "I'm so sorry." _

_Patrick did not want to listen to him. He turned to leave. _

"_R-Robin." Ewen fought through the pain. He was beginning to regret refusing painkillers. Patrick stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face the psychiatrist again. "Your wife. There's something…there's something you don't know." He was fading. The room became darker, a dark, heavy curtain seemingly falling over his eyes. He began to cough. Patrick was yelling at him, trying to feign anger of his worry for his deceased wife. "Robin…R-R-Robin…" suddenly, that was the only word Ewen knew. He repeated her name over and over. He couldn't see anymore, Patrick was simply a fading voice in the background of life. He was edging closer to darkness, but there was a light he couldn't quite place. He yearned for that light. _

_Patrick saw Ewen jolt upwards, a groan barely escaping his lips, and then he fell back down, limp. He was dead. _

* * *

December 31, 2012—The Haunted Star, Port Charles, New York

"It's a wonder how I even got here, you know? So many patients…" Brit Westborne spoke to the bartender, laughing and flirting. Patrick Drake wasn't entirely sure if she knew she was flirting, but she was.

"You must be a very busy woman." The bartender poured Brit her fruity drink, winking at her.

"Well, of course, but I just _had_ to spend the holiday with my boyfriend."

Patrick coughed, setting down his hors d'oeuvre quickly. Boyfriend? Maybe she was his girlfriend, but Patrick Drake did not assume the title of _boyfriend_. Brit glanced at him, to see if he was all right.

"Was it something I said?" Brit asked, eyebrows raised. The bartender walked away to attend to other customers.

"What?" Patrick cleared his throat. "No. Not at all."

"Do you want a drink?" Brit noticed. "Champagne? I'll get you some." Brit sauntered over to the bartender again. Patrick took his brief time alone to check his phone. Slipping it out of his pocket, the phone was already lit up before Patrick pressed anything. A picture from Sabrina of Emma, already asleep on the couch. It wasn't even eleven thirty. She still had her funky 2013 glasses on.

_Great work, babysitter. _Patrick texted. _Tell Emma I love her. _

_Already did! _Sabrina's reply came back seconds after Patrick sent the text. Patrick was a little surprised, but laughed it off. Sabrina was a nice kid, if not a little eager sometimes. She was good for Emma. Emma needed to have some fun on her first New Years without Robin. So did Patrick.

He had two missed calls from Steve. Steve and Olivia had been at the Haunted Star for a little while, talking with Olivia's son and daughter-in-law, Dante and Lulu, but they left early. Something could be wrong at the hospital. Frowning, Patrick pressed the callback button.

"Hey, no phones allowed, mister." Brit returned, ending the conversation before Steve even picked up. "You're having fun tonight. Which means no calling Sabrina."

"Now, why would you think that was Sabrina?" Patrick asked, smiling.

"I don't think, I know." Brit moved closer to him. "Emma is fine, she's a good kid. I want you to focus on me."

"That's a little selfish."

"I know." Brit leaned forward and kissed him. A soft moan escaped her lips, and she deepened their embrace. Patrick, however, felt nothing.

"_Wow," Patrick spotted his wife, dressed and ready to go for their New Years date at the Metrocourt. She was stunning in purple. "You look gorgeous." He leaned in to kiss her. _

That was 2010. It was almost 2013, and he was kissing someone else. What kind of husband did that make him?

"E-excuse me," Patrick pulled back, clearing his throat. "I…I…just one moment."

"Patrick?"

He was already out the door.

* * *

Looking out at the rolling waters, Patrick thought of Robin. His beautiful, wonderful wife. What would she think of him and Brit? Would she want him to be happy? Maybe, or maybe Patrick didn't want himself to be happy.

"Steve? It's Patrick." He held the phone up to his ear, pushing aside his incessant thinking. "What's up?"

"Patrick." Steve answered, a little sheepishly. "Listen, I'm sorry to do this to you tonight, but there's an elderly man who just came into General Hospital with brain swelling. He needs emergency surgery, and you're the most qualified. Have you been drinking?"

"No." Patrick shook his head. "No, I haven't. I'll…I'll be right there." He hung up and slipped on his coat, heading towards the docks.

"Patrick?"

Damn. He forgot about Brit.

"Brit," he turned around slowly. "Listen, I'm really sorry about this. I'm needed at General Hospital."

"Oh, of course you are." She looked down. "Good luck."

Patrick sighed. "Can I take you home or something?"

"No, no, I'm fine, really." Brit shook her head. "You go ahead."

"Yeah." Patrick looked away from her gaze. "Okay. Happy New Years."

He knew he was running away. He couldn't be happy with Brit and grieve over Robin at the same time.


	2. Broken Persona

Bloody Oath

General Hospital

Chapter two

* * *

January 1, 2013—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

Once he had changed back into his suit, Patrick joined Steve in the break room with a few other nurses who had assisted in the surgery. They turned on a small television and waited for the countdown, as reruns were being showed already.

"Why people would stand for hours in the cold to watch a ball drop is beyond me." Steve muttered, taking a sip of warm coffee. Steve was one of those people who could drink coffee black, anytime, anywhere. Patrick was not one of those people.

"It's all part of the tradition, I guess." Patrick shrugged, putting more creamer in his coffee. "Emma is always begging me to take her someday."

"Oh, yeah?" Steve laughed. "What did you say?"

"I pretended not to hear." Patrick answered. "The microwave was conveniently on high while she was speaking."

"Hurriedly typing in more time until she gave up." Steve pretended there was a microwave in front of him.

"Exactly." Patrick nodded with a grin. He laughed once before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Hey, listen, man. I want you to go back to the Haunted Star and spent the rest of the morning with Brit." Steve looked at him seriously. "You've done enough."

"For now." Patrick muttered.

"Get going, man."

"I don't really feel like it." Patrick looked down, staring into the brown liquid. "I mean…if anything, I'm going home to Emma. I already told Brit I probably wouldn't come back."

"All right. I won't tell you what to do." Steve resigned, leaning back.

"Why don't you go?" Patrick retorted.

"What?" Steve was looking at the television again, hardly listening.

"Go and spend New Years with Olivia." Patrick said.

"You know what," Steve sipped his drink thoughtfully. "I think I'll take you up on that offer."

"Happy New Years, man." Patrick nodded at him.

"Good work tonight, doctor." Steve answered in return before grabbing his coat and heading out the door.

Once alone, Patrick checked his watch. Sabrina wasn't expecting him until one. Patrick figured he could make use of that time.

* * *

He walked absently around the mostly empty hospital. He wished night-shift nurses a Happy New Years, albeit drowsy. He couldn't imagine working night-shift as a surgeon. He valued his sleep too much, but mostly, because sleep was another excuse to be intimate with Robin. To watch her breaths fall evenly and know she would wake up in the morning, content and relaxed.

Not anymore.

Walking past the psych ward, Patrick's pace slowed. He found his mind wandering towards Dr. Ewen Keenan, the doctor who died. The doctor who turned out to be different than Patrick thought. Ewen had turned out to be a kidnapping, murdering Australian with no agenda of his own except to follow Jerry Jacks's wishes.

Patrick had truly liked Ewen, before he suddenly turned evil. He had even set him up with his friend, Elizabeth. Steve's sister whom Ewen had nearly killed. Patrick almost scoffed. Elizabeth was never in danger as long as Jason Morgan was around. That's how Ewen died, of course, a bullet wound by a professional killer. Another murder via Jason Morgan before the motive was truly established. Patrick didn't want to give a dead man the benefit of the doubt, but he was sure Ewen had some sort of explanation.

* * *

September 15, 2012—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

_He was floating towards the light. Feelings left him. He was speechless. He had never felt so content in his entire life. _

_And then, as suddenly as he was leaving Earth, he was returning. He was falling, dreadfully and horribly fast. He wanted to scream, but he could not move. He was paralyzed. _

_That's when he heard the voice calling his name. _

"You are not done!" _The Voice roared, His voice shaking every pore of Ewen's body. He was utterly terrified. He reached his hands upwards, trying to clutch the last remaining bit of light. The effort was useless. He felt his body hit the ground with a thud so deafening Ewen shut his eyes. _

When he opened his eyes, he was on a cold, unforgiving, tile floor. He gasped for air, coughing and sputtering blood. Where was he? The room was so dark he could hardly see. He wiped his hand across his face. Rising on unsteady feet, he found a light switch and flipped it on.

He was in the morgue.

But what was he doing here? Ewen looked around the condensed, jaded room. He noticed two nurses at the far end of the room, talking to themselves.

"Excuse me?" Ewen's voice was scratchy and barely audible. "Excuse me?"

The nurses didn't seem to notice him. They continued with their conversation, writing something down on their clipboards. One of the nurses laughed.

"Hello?" Ewen stood behind the nurse, hands waving. "Can't you hear me?"

Nothing.

He was invisible to them. Cursing, he glanced at their clipboards.

_Dr. Ewen Keenan. Time of death: 2: 55 p.m. _

No. No, that was impossible. He was alive. He was right here! He was _alive_. Ewen looked around the morgue. There was a body covered by a blue sheet, but that couldn't be him. He was alive.

The second nurse moved over to the body. She lifted the cover to reveal the body.

Ewen, in his great shock, fell backwards, knocking into a table. A cup of coffee fell to the ground, spilling everywhere.

"What the hell was that?" The first nurse jumped.

"Can't look right now," the second nurse was too busy inspecting the body. "Just clean it up."

"I swear, this hospital gets crazier by the day." The nurse muttered, kneeling down to pick up the cup.

Scrambling away from her, Ewen stood hastily. His hands were trembling so much he clasped them behind his back so the nurses wouldn't see. As if they could see.

How was this possible? His body lay on the table, but he was clearly alive. He felt alive. He felt _whole_. But he was the same as the man on the table. His shirt had been ripped off by a nurse; a wound from his chest was bleeding. He was still sweating as much as he had when he-

When he died.

Ewen swallowed hard, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. He had to leave. He had to get out of the hospital. He had to figure out what was going on.

He had to tell Patrick that Robin was alive.


	3. The Voice

Bloody Oath

General Hospital

Chapter three

* * *

January 1, 2013— Queen's Pointe Suburb, Port Charles, New York

"Happy New Years, Daddy!" Emma Drake ran into her father's bedroom, a huge smile on her precious face. She jumped onto his bed and crawled on his back until he woke up and acknowledged her.

Peeking an eye open, Patrick noticed that Emma had turned the light on. Squinting, he craned his neck until he saw his daughter.

"How are you up this early?" He asked amusingly, rolling onto his back. Emma giggled, crawling out from under him to sit on his lip.

"It's New Years, Daddy!" She exclaimed.

"Yes it is," he placed a kiss on her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. "Happy New Years, baby."

"Do you think Mommy is celebrating New Years in heaven?" Emma asked.

Patrick let his cheek rest against his daughter's soft hair. "Yes," he whispered. "Mommy blew you a kiss at midnight."

"I felt it!" Emma gasped.

"Yeah," Patrick nodded. "Me too, baby." They were silent for a moment. "So, how was your night with Sabrina, huh?"

"Sabrina fell asleep!"

"She did?" Patrick laughed. "She must have been pretty tired."

"Yeah, Daddy, I stayed up longer than she did." Emma bragged. "I stayed up until _nine_."

"Wow!" Patrick picked her up, and the two left the room. Emma crawled onto his back again.

"Daddy, do you have to go to work today?"

"Yeah, baby, I'm sorry."

"You're always at work." Emma pouted. Patrick stopped before they reached the kitchen. He bit his lip.

"There are always people who need help." He explained. "Listen, I'll tell you what: I'll make you pancakes-"

"Yay!"

"-and then you can help me pick out my tie."

"Okay!"

"Sounds good?"

"Sounds good." Emma nodded.

"Good."

* * *

January 1, 2013—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

Ewen found his new home in the psych ward of General Hospital. His old office had not been touched since his death, his nameplate still flashed proudly next to the door. The door, coincidentally, was locked, but Ewen had no trouble slipping through the wood. He was some sort of ghost, now; physical boundaries no longer affected him.

Casper the freaking Friendly Ghost.

He slept in his chair, his desk was his pillow. He used his jacket as a blanket. Shortly after the incident in the morgue, Ewen returned to the ER room and grabbed his things. His shirt was still bloodstained. His phone still worked, however. There was a spare charger in the break room Ewen had taken. Sometimes he called people on his phone, using a blocked number, of course, just to hear their voice. They couldn't hear him, no matter how much he yelled and screamed. He was nothing, just another dead Australian.

He desperately wanted to leave the hospital. But he was dead. He was dead and confined to General Hospital. He could not leave.

* * *

September 16, 2012—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

He awoke with a start on the hospital floor outside the morgue. The cold tile pressed against his bare chest intolerantly. Ewen gasped at the pain in his side, shakily standing. What was he doing near the morgue?

And then, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, Ewen remembered. He was dead. He was dead, but his spirit was alive.

Terrified, Ewen ran down the hospital stairs. He did not bother with the prolonged elevator. He had to leave. He had to get out of this forsaken place. He ran until he saw the exit to the hospital, wide doors with helpful handles. Panting, he slowed as he neared them, grabbing the handle immediately.

"Ah!" He stepped back, swiping his hand away. The door had burned him. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered to himself, reaching towards the door again. Another shocking wave of heat. Frustrated, Ewen braced himself, stepping back to get a head start. He _had _to leave. He just wanted to go home.

With a cry, he ran as fast as he could into the door, pushing it open. He was pushed back by some weird phenomenon.

"_You may not leave." _A deafeningly loud voice roared. _"You are not done."_

"Let me go!" Ewen called back, but it was no use. The Voice wouldn't speak. "Let me go!"

People were passing him, now, opening the doors easily and leaving. Nurses spoke to one another. A doctor was on the phone just outside the hospital. Someone was stepping on the stub of his cigarette. Ewen moved closer, staring out the clear doors. It was early morning. Nightshift was over. He thought he saw someone coming in the doors that he recognized, with brunette hair and-

"Elizabeth," he whispered, eyes widening. He stood right where he was. He was paralyzed by shock. He thought fleetingly for a moment that Elizabeth might see him so underdressed and bloody and pale, but the thought was pushed aside with his overwhelming desire to see her. To talk to her. To touch her. "Elizabeth-"

She was walking towards him, looking down at her phone. She wasn't paying attention to anything in front of her. Ewen called her name again as she neared him, but it was plainly obvious that he was not seen by her or anyone else. She kept walking until she walked straight through him on her way to the locker room.

Ewen felt like he was being stretched apart. Every fiber in his being fell victim to brief seconds of indescribable pain. Screaming, he fell to the ground. His bullet wound became agitated and bled again. He was trembling violently, grabbing at his chest in pain. He was slowly curling inside himself. She had walked straight through him with no care. She hadn't even noticed him. After all they had been through? Was he nothing, now? Had he been reduced to a spirit or some sort of ghost?

He turned, inching his head away until he could see Elizabeth walk away. She was not disturbed by what she had just done. She felt nothing. She felt nothing for him. Here she was, the day after his death, already working again. Acting like nothing had happened. Perhaps he had really meant so little to her. Just another relationship gone wrong.

With shocking relevance, Ewen realized he was crying. His mouth hung open invariably. Words were engulfed by his sad, depressed moaning.

Others came into him, some walking around him, some walking through him. Each time was as painful as the first. He took in the pain with his flowing tears, unable to stop trembling.

What could he not have simply died in peace?


	4. Reckless Attempts

Bloody Oath

General Hospital

Chapter four

* * *

September 22, 2012—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

He was going to jump.

Standing on the ledge of the General Hospital roof, Ewen was considering how he would make the fall, how he would descend to the ground. Would it be quick? Would he feel as much pain as he had felt in the last few days? Perhaps, once he was _truly_ dead, the bullet wound would disappear. Perhaps, then, he would be at peace.

He had not changed since he had supposedly died earlier that month. He wore the same clothes, the wound still bled. Patrick still had no idea his wife was alive. Ewen was still a murdering criminal, as he had always been.

With that thought, Ewen took one foot of the ledge and dangled it over the cool air. He felt a little like the English Patient in the novel by Michael Ondaatje, confined by burns and scars to a simple room. The only problem with the English Patient, however decrypted he looked, he was still _alive_. People saw him. People liked him.

Bloody books. All the hospital had were medical journals and children's picture stories. Ewen was going to die a second time of boredom.

What was the point, keeping him here? Ewen saw the same people every day. He followed their lives, because they could not follow him. A psychiatrist's dream: knowing exactly what his or her patient was going through, and not receiving a one-sided version. Too bad his job meant nothing now that he was dead. He hadn't made a living for himself since his death. His father would have been so disappointed.

Ewen jumped.

For a few seconds the air against his skin felt so good. He spread his limbs out, slipping his eyes shut and waiting to hit the ground. Waiting to die again.

"_You are not done!" _

"No!" Ewen's eyes shot open as soon as he heard the Voice. "No, no, no!" He yelled, struggling with the wind around him as he was forced back onto the roof. He landed roughly on the chilly cement in a heap.

"Dammit, no!" he slammed his hand on the ground until his palm began to bleed. "You can't take this away from me, too!" He rolled onto his back, clutching his side and screaming at the sky. "Now I can't even _kill _myself?"

Silence.

"What am I doing here?" Ewen moaned, inhaling and exhaling with labored breaths. He could hardly handle the silence. He hadn't spoken to anyone in a week. A week with no contact. "Bloody hell…" he groaned. "Why don't You just take me away? Just _take_ me! I'm right _here_! I know what I've done! I know where I am to go, God, just take me away from this bloody hospital, from this forsaken place!"

Silence.

"Aren't You listening? Why won't You _say_ something?" He yelled.

"_You are not done._ _Not yet._"

* * *

January 1, 2013—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

As Patrick Drake entered the hospital the same day, he couldn't help by think of Dr. Ewen Keenan again. He didn't know why the psychiatrist kept coming to his mind. His death had been so sudden and random.

"_Robin could never see Jason for what he really is." Patrick confided in Ewen during a checkup. Ewen's head was healing fine after his run-in with Connie Falconeri. Patrick had to admit he was impressed with Ewen, who did not press charges against his dangerously insane psychiatric patient. _

"_And that would be?" Ewen asked, eyebrows raised. _

"_A paid killer." Patrick spit. "And women like Robin and Elizabeth line up to his defense." _

Elizabeth was looking through a patient's binder when Patrick neared the nurses' station. Looking up, she greeted him with her usual smile.

"Good morning." She handed him his schedule. "Happy New Years."

"Same to you," he muttered, flipping through the long list of patient's names and appointments quickly. Looked like he was going to have another long day.

"Did you and Emma have fun last night?" Elizabeth asked curiously, tucking some reddish-brown hair behind her delicate ear.

"Yeah…" Patrick didn't look up. "I had a few things to do last night, but we spent the morning together."

"Are you all right?" Elizabeth suddenly asked.

"What?" Patrick frowned, crossing out the name of a patient he knew wasn't going to make the appointment.

"I don't know…you seem a little distracted." She shrugged. "I know this is your first New Years without Robin."

"Actually, I was thinking about Ewen." Patrick looked up.

"What?" This time, Elizabeth frowned. The name of the long-dead psychiatrist and her former flame startled her.

"Yeah, I know." Patrick set down the binder. "I just keep thinking that…I mean, before he died, he was trying to tell me something about Robin."

"I didn't know that." Elizabeth whispered.

"Yeah, well, thanks to Jason, I'll never know what he was trying to tell me."

"Don't." Elizabeth pleaded. "I don't want to talk about Ewen anymore. He was a horrible person, Patrick. Believe me. He killed Jasper Jacks's father and was going to kill me. Thank God Jason got there when he did."

"Please." Patrick scoffed. "Don't act like Jason did any good that day. He did what he was trained to do."

"Patrick! He saved my life."

"He killed a man in cold blood."

"Ewen was going to kill me-"

"So I heard." Patrick sighed. "It would have been nice to know Ewen's side."

"Are you forgetting that he hit you in the side of the head with a _baseball_ bat?" Elizabeth snapped.

"He was Australian; it's not like they know what baseball is."

"How _dare _you make a joke out of what he did to you!"

"Whatever." Patrick sighed. "I…I don't want to argue with you. You were Robin's friend, and you're my friend, too. I…I just wish…well, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry Jason died, for what it's worth. I know you cared about him."

"Apology accepted." Elizabeth grumbled, storming off. Patrick watched her go resignedly. _Great job, Drake. _

* * *

October 2, 2012—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

_Psychiatrist goes crazy, tries to kill former patient. _

_Young mother caught in crossfire between Australian runaway criminal and alleged mobster. _

_What made the doctor go cuckoo? The real story behind the insane psychiatrist. _

"_I thought I was going to die", claims young mother after kidnapping ordeal resulting in a death._

_Town praises alleged hit man after he saves a young woman._

Every article from every newspaper concerning himself Ewen cut out and tacked to the door to his office. He stared at them for hours, reading each carefully printed word over and over again. This was how Port Charles remembered him as, the ironic death of the psychiatrist who went insane.

And what if Ewen was slowly turning crazy? He certainly felt insane. He was tired all the time; he barely had enough energy to wake up in the morning. Why did he even bother waking up? He wanted to die with the rest of his body. The fatigue led to a loss of appetite, and he found himself gradually not needing food anymore. He ate sparingly, and drank even less. They were no longer a necessity, and more of a pleasure. He deserved no pleasure in life. Due to this, his once toned, fit chest became smaller and more shrunken. His cheeks became hollower. He became exhausted after long bouts of pacing. He often spent the day holed in his office, reading through old patient reports. He was second-guessing all his decisions, now. He had told a certain patient she had the makings of an anorexic, but he had never ruled out bulimia. He had never asked how much she ate and when she ate said food. He could have been wrong the whole time. Where was this girl now? Was she seeing someone new? She must have heard about his death, everyone had in Port Charles. Besides, she hadn't returned to the hospital or the psych ward that Ewen had noticed.

At the end of September, Ewen had decided it would be best for him to at least work out. Exercise would be a healthy way to waste time. He headed to the physical therapy ward (next to pediatrics, he remembered), and started walking on the treadmill, still dressed in his suit. Walking turned to jogging. Jogging turned to incessant, desperate running. He did not notice a nurse enter the room until she walked up to him and turned off the treadmill, angry someone would leave it on and running at such a high speed.

Startled, Ewen tripped and fell to the ground. His chest hit the end of the treadmill as he crumpled to the carpet floor. His wound bled again and he sweated profusely.

And then, slowly, he got up, cringing, and returned to his office. In his office he stayed.


	5. Lunch Hour Adventures

Bloody Oath

General Hospital

Chapter five

* * *

**A/n:** Apologies for the late upload! I had this written, but was out of town most of the weekend and couldn't get to my computer until today.

* * *

January 2, 2013—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

During his lunch break, Patrick sat next to Epiphany. She had brought him lunch, his favorite kind of sandwich Robin used to always make. Turns out Robin had received the recipe from Epiphany. To keep the tradition alive, Epiphany promised to bring Patrick lunch once a week. Wednesdays quickly became Patrick's favorite day of the week.

"Epiphany," Patrick spoke through the sourdough, glancing at the woman.

"Can I help you?" She looked up with a slightly amused expression. He chuckled and took a swig of water, swallowing down the food. She always put on just enough mustard, he thought to himself.

"Why is Dr. Keenan's office still like it was the day he died?"

"Why do you ask?"

"The new psychiatrist, what's-her-name, told me she has to use a different office. His things haven't been touched."

"Who knows what they do down in the psych ward?" Epiphany rolled her eyes. "I heard that, supposedly, Dr. Quartermaine's waiting for a family member of Dr. Keenan's to take his things. Clearly, that hasn't happened."

"Strange."

"And, you know what, I know he dented your head, but I thought he was a damn good doctor." Epiphany shook her head. "It was a shame to hear he was so…evil."

With one satisfied bite, Patrick finished his sandwich. He nodded emphatically at Epiphany's confession, taking a sip of water. "So," he cleared his throat, "the office is exactly the same as it was when he died?"

"Sounds right to me." Epiphany threw away her granola bar wrapper.

"Do you still have your master key?"

"'Do I still have my master key', he says. What kind of question is that?" Epiphany rolled her eyes. "Of course I have it."

"Good." Patrick nodded to himself.

"Drake Junior, what's on your mind?"

"Can I see your key?" Patrick asked. "Please?" he noted her expression.

"If you're thinking of going to Dr. Keenan's office…" Epiphany started. She gave Dr. Drake a long look. He seemed oddly eager. "Aw, hell." She sighed. "I'm going with you."

* * *

January 2, 2013—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

Dr. Ewen Keenan was thumbing through his copy of the _American Psychiatric Publishing Textbook of Psychiatry _when he heard the door to his office click. Someone was trying to enter through the front. Sighing irritably, Ewen took his pen out of his mouth. Even if they did get in, he wouldn't be seen. He set his book down and leaned forward, reading passively. He could hear speaking on the other side of the door. A man and a woman. Rolling his eyes, he underlined a passage of text he found interesting. Not that he would ever be able to use the revolutionary tactic with a patient anymore.

The door flew open. Glancing up from his text, Ewen noted the intruders: Dr. Patrick Drake and Head Nurse Epiphany Johnson, the latter of whom seemed rather annoyed.

"And look, the forsaken place is exactly the same." Epiphany looked around the empty room. "Now, please give me back my key. I'd like to finish my lunch in peace."

Laughing to himself sadly, Ewen returned to his work. He was over halfway through the nonfiction, which he had been reading for over five hours. The feat once would have bored him immensely, but now, time meant nothing to him.

Patrick, however, was staring straight at Ewen Keenan, eyes wide. He blanched. Mortified, he quickly shut the door.

"Calm down, Drake Junior, you look live you've seen a ghost." Epiphany hid her concern, raising her eyebrows at the doctor, whose back was flattened against the door.

"I…I did." Patrick whispered.

"Mmhmm." Epiphany did not believe him. "Key, please."

"One second." Patrick shook his head. "I'll give it to you later, I promise. Just…you go finish your lunch. I want to stay."

"And stay in a dead man's office?"

Patrick shut his eyes. Epiphany would never believe him if he told her what he just saw.

Ewen. At his desk. Alive. Alive and _reading_, for Pete's sake. He looked terrible.

"I'll…I'll return your key, Epiphany." Patrick assured her. She wasn't convinced, but her stomach growled again and she gave up, turning and walking away. She muttered something unintelligent under her breath as she turned the corner.

Once she was out of sight, Patrick took in a deep breath. He was seeing things. He had to be seeing things. Good Lord, he saw dead people. Freaking Haley Joel Osment.

_C'mon, Drake, don't be so scared. Just open the door. _

"Dammit," he slipped the key into the lock again, turned it to the left, and pushed open the door.

The second time his office door opened, Ewen got a little irritated. He shut his book, took his pen cap out of his mouth, and locked eyes with the intruder.

Patrick.

Ewen, at first, thought Patrick was staring back at him, but pushed aside the thought. No one could actually see him, not anymore. "As if you could really see me," Ewen muttered. He considered opening his book again.

Patrick took a step back. Ewen _spoke_. Now, he was officially panicking. He was seeing _and_ hearing dead people. Swallowing hard, he leaned against the closed door. He felt paper on his neck. Turning around, he saw dozens of newspaper articles from around Port Charles tacked onto the door. They were all about Ewen and his evil demise. Patrick stared at them hopelessly. Who would put these on the door? Who would want to save these articles?

"I wish you could see me now, Patrick." Ewen sighed. "I have so much to tell you. So much I could have said."

Patrick turned back around, his eyes searching the allegedly dead body in front of him. Ewen was much thinner than when Patrick last saw him…when Ewen died. He had lost his Australian tan, and some of his signature muscle the nurses always raved about when Ewen had first joined the General Hospital staff. Until his death, that was. But he wasn't really dead. Patrick was so confused.

His face was probably the most different to Patrick. Hollow cheeks and deep, dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. He was unshaven, but it looked as if he had hastily cut his growing beard with scissors or something of that matter. Patrick inspected the rest of Ewen. He wore the same, smelly, bloody shirt from when he was shot. The buttons were undone, and Patrick could see a yellowing bandage across Ewen's bullet wound that was never truly healed. The bullet was still lodged into his chest, if Patrick remembered correctly, when Ewen had died. The bandage looked like it hadn't been changed in months.

Although Patrick's medical instincts were kicking him in the side, he could not move. The door remained slightly open, and he did nothing to close it. He could not look away from Ewen, who did not seem bothered by his presence.

"It's bloody freezing in here." Ewen grumbled. Even the tiniest draft rattled his bones. He truly had lost a lot of weight. He felt shorter, too, but knew that was only because of his anxiety and obtuse drop in body mass. Standing, he began to head towards the door so he could close it. He had been breathing the same air for a few days, now, and the intrusion was not one he enjoyed.

"Hey! Hey, d-don't come any closer!" Patrick was suddenly yelling. "Get away!"

Ewen stopped dead in his tracks. No. No, that couldn't be. Patrick couldn't see him. He took a step towards Patrick.

"Dammit, man, get _away_!" Patrick's voice cracked. He grabbed a large textbook and held it as a weapon.

"You can see me?" Ewen's voice came out smaller than he expected. He swallowed hard.

"Shit." Patrick ran a hand through his hair, obviously freaked out. In fact, 'freaked out' was an understatement. "Y-yeah. Yeah, I can see you."

It was Ewen's turn to be more shocked. He wasn't sure what to say. This truly was his first contact in months. He and Patrick stared at each other for a moment before he had to sit back down, his legs weak. His legs were always weak. He awkwardly pushed back his rolling chair and shuffled into it, collapsing. He put his head in his hands. Patrick stared at him until Ewen's shoulders began to shake with relief and a great, ironic sadness before looking away.

"Ewen,"

The sound of his name only encouraged Ewen's tears. He angrily pushed them aside, sheepish for crying in front of a grown man. When he looked up, Patrick had neared his desk, still staring in a sense of disbelief.

"Um, Ewen," Patrick patted Ewen's shoulder. Ewen stifled a gasp. His hands were so warm and _alive_, and they did not go through his ghostly body as everyone else did.

"You're so cold." Patrick noted, but what did he expect from a dead man?

"I-I know. Oh, I know." Ewen wiped his eyes, sighing loudly. He tried to speak, but ended up putting his head in his hands again, overwhelmed.

"Ewen," Patrick took in a deep breath. "I want you to tell me everything. From the beginning. I mean…how the hell can you be here? How the hell can you be alive?"

Ewen looked up, eyes locking with Patrick. "I'm not."


	6. The Announcement

Bloody Oath

General Hospital

Chapter six

* * *

January 2, 2013—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

Patrick and Ewen spoke fervently until Patrick was paged for a consult. Ewen explained his death and the Voice he always heard, and how, for some reason, he was not meant to die and stayed on Earth locked in a hospital. The words made no sense to Patrick, but the proof sat right in front of him so he did not doubt Ewen's story.

_Consult. Now, Drake. You're already late_.

His pager beeped again. Looking down, Patrick knew he couldn't ignore the appointment. Standing up, he ran a hand through his dark locks. Ewen noticed his hair was shorter since the last time he saw Patrick.

"Listen, I have to leave, but don't you go anywhere, okay? We are not finished with this conversation." Patrick warned him.

"It's not like I can leave anyway, Patrick." Ewen shrugged. "My spirit is bound to General Hospital."

Disturbed, Patrick quickly left Ewen's office and the psych ward.

* * *

One long, medically-enhancing hour later, Patrick returned to Ewen's office, albeit cautiously. He half-expected to open the door to an empty office. He almost wished he was dreaming.

But he wasn't.

Ewen sat behind his desk as he probably had for hours, now. The psychiatric text he had been reading previously was now placed on the floor next to a large pile of books Ewen had seemingly read through during his non-death (or was that second life?).

He did not seem bothered by Patrick's entrance this time; in fact, he was too preoccupied with himself to notice. His dirty, mangled shirt was still unbuttoned, and he poked at his dirty bandage, cringing.

"Are you in pain?" Patrick asked, closing the door behind him.

"What?" Ewen looked up, hands falling to his side. "Ah. Well, nothing I don't deserve."

"What does that mean?"

"This is my punishment for the pain I've caused. God does not want me and neither does anyone else." Ewen spoke seriously. Patrick still looked confused, but Ewen did not reiterate. He didn't want to go into details. Not yet, anyway. He still wanted Patrick to visit him; he still wanted to communicate with a living person, if only the man whose wife he took away.

Patrick took a seat, silent. He clasped his hands together and tried to make sense with the situation. "I want to know why I can see you." He started. "Who else has seen you?"

"No one." Ewen answered. "Sometimes I walk around the hospital…no one sees me."

"Invisible?" Patrick tried. Ewen nodded.

"People have walked through me, before." Ewen looked down.

"What the hell-"

"It's the worst feeling in the world, don't make me describe it." Ewen whispered rapidly.

"Describe it." Patrick raised his eyebrows.

Ewen sighed, his hands resting on his desk. "It…it's like ever fiber of your body is being pulled in different directions. In actuality, it only lasts for a few seconds, but the pain…that lasts."

"Who did that to you?" Patrick asked. "Did they know?"

"No," Ewen shook his head. "She didn't see me."

"She?"

"Elizabeth." Ewen said her name tenderly and peculiarly, a name he hadn't spoken aloud in a while. "She walked right through me."

_Elizabeth_. The name seemed like a trigger for Patrick. Elizabeth, the woman Ewen kidnapped. Elizabeth, the woman Patrick failed to protect from Ewen.

"Why did you do it?" Patrick asked, leaning forward.

"It?" Ewen frowned.

"Why would you hit me and then take Elizabeth? Elizabeth and I both have children; do you know what kind of danger you put us in? And Jerry Jacks? You were working with _him_?"

Silent, Ewen looked down.

"Don't even think about crying again, Keenan, I won't take your sympathy." Patrick snapped. "You let Elizabeth get close to you and then you took her away; you ripped her trust for you away. You could have endangered her children!"

"I never wanted to hurt Elizabeth. Or you. That was never my plan." Ewen whispered. "I just wanted to stay out of prison, I wanted to keep my job…I wanted to be happy. I thought New York was beset suited for me, so I came here at the request of a patient."

"But you had an ulterior motive!" Patrick exclaimed. "Jerry Jacks? This whole time?"

"I assure you, Patrick; I wanted nothing to do with Jerry Jacks. I hold no loyalty to him. Especially now."

"So, what? Jason and Elizabeth told me the story-"

"Jason?" Ewen scoffed. "He's as much of a criminal as I am."

"Yeah, well, he's dead." Patrick snapped. "You won't have to worry about him any longer. Unfortunately, Elizabeth doesn't have a shoulder to cry on, and even if she could see you, she wouldn't be anywhere near you."

"I read of his mysterious disappearance. He could still be alive."

"Don't…" Patrick shook his head. "Don't play that game. Don't get Elizabeth and Sam Morgan's hopes up. Jason's wife is just as convinced as you are that he's still alive."

"But you think not?"

"I think he's dead." Patrick said icily. "Listen, I wasn't a big fan of the guy but I do feel bad for his wife and their son. I guess I can relate." He stopped suddenly. "But we weren't talking about me. Why exactly were you working for Jerry Jacks? You murder his father and suddenly he gives you a job?"

"Not…exactly." Ewen shook his head. "I, well, we more of kept each other's secrets. Honestly, Patrick, I wanted nothing to do with him."

"So he just gave you pathogens to put in the water supply, is that it? You just agreed to kill the whole town?"

"No, no, I never wanted that to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt." Ewen moaned, dropping his head in his hands. Patrick could see his thin and bony hands press against light, brunette tuffs of unruly hair. "He was going to turn me in…he was going to ruin everything. I _hate_ the Jacks family, Patrick, I hate all of them. They ruined my family."

"Family? You want to talk about family? What about the family you almost ruined when you took Elizabeth?" Patrick retorted. Ewen groaned, shaking his head. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to remember.

Patrick scoffed, looking away. "What about me, huh?" he asked, quieter. "Right before your apparent death you said you had to tell me something about Robin. What was it, Ewen? Tell me now or I swear I'll throw you back to hell. I'll tell everyone in this hospital about you."

"Really?" Ewen laughed miserably. "Who would believe you? Not one bloody person." He shook his head. "Try as you might, I can't leave this hospital."

"What do you know about Robin?" Patrick was becoming angry. He grabbed the sides of the desk angrily. "Dammit, Ewen, what were you going to tell me?"

"She's alive." Ewen let out a shaky breath. "Robin is alive, Patrick. Your wife-"

"I know who she is!" Patrick roared, jumping out his seat. "How dare you tell me my wife is alive? I _buried _her ashes, Ewen, I spoke at her funeral! I'm the one raising _our _daughter by myself! And you're telling me she's alive? Then why the hell isn't she here, now, huh? Don't tell me she's some invisible spirit like you are."

"No, no, Patrick. She's really alive. I promise you."

"Promise?" Patrick scoffed. "What does your promise mean to me? You're dead."

"Listen to me, Patrick. As of September 15, the day I died, Robin was still alive. I know where she is. I can help you find her. Please, believe me, Patrick. If you ever want to see your wife again, you must believe me."

Patrick was shaking his head, his jaw clenched in a tight line. "Never say her name again, bastard." He spit. "This conversation is over."

_No._ No, Ewen was losing communication. How long would it be, this time? Would he go another five or six months without speaking to anyone? Desperately, he called Patrick's name, standing up quickly to be level with him, but it was no use. Patrick left as quickly as he had entered, the door slamming soundly behind him.

Ewen was alone.

* * *

January 1, 2013— Queen's Pointe Suburb, Port Charles, New York

After dinner that night, Emma Scorpio-Drake crawled into her father's lap. He was on the couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table. He was reading the newspaper reports on a car crash that had occurred on New Year's morning. He knew some of those involved in the crash. Detective Dante Falconeri had been at the scene, and answered one or two questions for a reporter before he had to go work again. In Patrick's opinion, Dante Falconeri was the most overworked cop on the police force. He still seemed to make his wife, Lulu, happy, though. Lulu was a friend of Patrick's; he wanted to make sure she was okay. Especially with the baby on the way.

"Daddy," Emma started. "Can we have a tea party?"

"Oh, baby," Patrick took in a deep breath. It had been a long day. His mind had been officially blown more than once that afternoon, and he needed some time to himself. Emma looked too much like Robin for her own good. Every time she called him 'Daddy' his heart broke a little. "I'm sorry. Daddy's really tired."

"Are you sick?" Emma asked. Patrick kissed the top of her head.

"Not sick, just tired. I think I'm going to go to bed." He smiled softly at her. "Tell you what, though, when she gets back you can call Grandma Anna over and you two can have an authentic tea party."

"Can Grandpa Robert come, too?"

"Sure." Patrick got up, setting his daughter down. "Can I have a kiss before bed?" she kissed his cheek quickly.

"Can I tuck you in?" Emma giggled.

"Tuck me in?" Patrick feigned excitement. "Sure."

"Did Mommy tuck you in?" Emma asked.

Patrick laughed. "No, baby, Mommy didn't tuck me in."

Emma seemed ill-affected by the news, jumping on her father's back quickly. "I want a piggyback ride!" As the two neared Patrick's bedroom, they passed Patrick and Robin's wedding picture. He touched it softly, smiling at the memories that only seemed to happen yesterday. He thought fleetingly for a second that they could perhaps happen again.


	7. Mystery Visitors

Bloody Oath

General Hospital

Chapter seven

* * *

**A/n:** Patrick's memory of Robin is another real scene from General Hospital. Also, I have taken liberty with the Anna/Faison/Duke storyline, since I didn't really want to write in Duke Lavery. No Robet/Anna/Duke love triangle here, folks.

* * *

January 4, 2013—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

Throughout the next few days after their initial talk, Patrick kept running into Dr. Ewen Keenan. He would appear at the door during surgery, staring at him with large, pleading eyes. He would come up behind him during lunch, and Patrick would suddenly lose his appetite. He would stand next to Patrick's locker as the neurosurgeon changed to scrubs. Patrick knew what he wanted. He wanted forgiveness; he wanted a chance to explain himself. Patrick was done giving second chances, especially when his wife was involved.

Heading to the locker room after surgery, the only hope Patrick had was that his shift was finally over, and he was going to go home, spend time with his daughter, and sleep in on Saturday. He worked afternoons on Saturday. Opening his locker, Patrick began to slip off his scrubs, tugging at the loose fabric around his chest.

"Patrick."

He jumped, turning around quickly. Who could it be now—?

Ewen.

"Dammit, can't you leave me alone?" Patrick hissed at the pale, shrunken man. Ewen leaned heavily against an adjoining locker, his hand unconsciously grabbing his bandaged chest in dull pain.

"Please, I'd like to explain," he begged. "Please let me explain. There's more that you do not know about Robin."

"I don't want to hear anything from you." Patrick snapped. "And I told you not to say my wife's name."

"If you'd just let me exp-"

"Get the _hell _away from me!" Patrick yelled, slamming his locker shut angrily.

"Patrick!" Suddenly, Dr. Brit Westborne was in the room, her eyes wide. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

Patrick couldn't say anything. Thoughts and excuses swam through his mind but nothing stuck out as a reasonable explanation. He opened his locker again, dully, and finished changing.

"I'm afraid this is my doing." Ewen explained to Brit, who did not hear or see him. "I've angered your boyfriend and now he won't speak to me."

Patrick hissed, muttering something under his breath. Brit, oblivious, checked her hair in the mirror once before leaving the room. They were alone again.

"She's _not _my girlfriend." Patrick snapped. "According to you I'm still married."

"That's not what I hear from the hospital staff." Ewen retorted.

"What, when you eavesdrop?" Patrick rolled his eyes, sitting down on a bench to slip on his shoes.

"What is so hard to believe about your wife being alive?" Ewen was becoming exasperated. "You don't think she can come back from the dead? Look at me, I'm living proof!"

"No." Patrick stood. "You are not living. Robin is nothing like you."

"Then why do you still refer to her in the present tense?" Ewen noted. Patrick scoffed and took his coat from the hanger.

"Don't use your mind tricks on me, Ewen. Dead or not I'm not the type to talk about my feelings."

"It's not a trick, it's a careful observation. You would pick up on it, too, if you would admit to yourself the truth. Robin is alive."

"I'm going home." Patrick turned around at the door. "Don't try to follow me—oh, wait, you can't. God abandoned you."

"God never abandons what He can't help." Ewen answered evenly.

"Yeah, sure Gabriel. He took my wife away so forgive me if I'm not rushing to thank Him." Patrick was bitter, and he didn't want to look at Ewen anymore. He quickly left.

* * *

January 5, 2013—Queen's Pointe Suburb, Port Charles, New York

_Patrick smiled at Robin mischievously. Her expression was nothing sort of contempt. "I would stop flirting if your Stalin-like charm hadn't driven me to seek company elsewhere." He protested, clearly enjoying himself. _

"_Do these lines actually work on some women?" Rolling her eyes, Robin wasn't taking any of his flippant words. _

"_I don't know. I haven't tried that one yet. You bring out the best in me, Robin."_

Memories left Patrick as he was taken from his sleep by an incessant knocking at the front door. The doorbell rang accordingly. Sitting up quickly, Patrick checked the clock. It was six in the morning, for Pete's sake, who was at the door? He pulled on a pair of dark sweatpants and a red NASCAR tee, going to inspect. With a yawn, he stumbled down the hall and to the door, looking fleetingly towards Emma's room for a moment, hoping she wasn't awakened by the noise.

He opened the door when the knocking began again.

Robert Scorpio stood there, his hand balled in a fist, ready to knock again. There was a deep gash on his head, dry blood caking the wound. He looked as tired as Patrick, and as soon as the door opened, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion and something short of relief.

"Robert," Patrick mumbled tiredly. "You look awful."

"Yeah, so do you." Robert grumbled. "Listen, I-"

"Robert? Did you get an answer?" An unmistakable British accent interrupted the two men as Anna Devane walked up the pathway, a duffel bag around one bony shoulder. Upon seeing Patrick, she let out a sigh of relief and greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Patrick, it's been too long." Anna smiled at her son-in-law before pulling away.

"Annie…" Robert started cautiously in his infamous Australian drawl. "Don't forget what we're here for."

Anna looked down. "Listen, Patrick, may we come in? We have much to tell you, and I'd like for you to look at Robert, he's not well."

"I'm fine." Robert persisted.

"Yeah, sure." Patrick opened the door wider. "I'll get my first aid kit. You can go to the couch."

"Thank you." Anna entered the familiar home as Patrick headed past the front room. "Is Emma around?"

"Uh, she's asleep." Patrick called from the kitchen. He pulled out his first aid kit from a nearby cabinet.

"Oh. Right." Anna laughed. "Forgot about the time change."

_Apparently. _Patrick bit back another yawn and appeared in the family room once more. Robert and Anna had taken to the couch, and even though they often fought and were divorced, they sat close together. They seemed perfectly comfortable with each other, knowing one another's weaknesses and skills, sometimes better than they knew themselves. _They had raised Robin,_ Patrick thought, when they were around. They understood his pain.

"Here," Patrick knelt down next to Robert, opening his kit. Robert, seeing his son-in-law preparing to attend to his minor scratch, grabbed the kit from Patrick.

"Bloody hell, I may be an old coot, but I know how to take care of myself." He growled, standing and going to the mirror near the hall. He attended to the cut himself, cringing only slightly when Anna wasn't looking.

Patrick took Robert's seat on the couch. "What are you doing here? I thought you and Duke were off to Switzerland for the weekend."

"Yes, well, clearly that didn't happen…" And so, Anna, with some help of Robert, explained her story. She went over Faison's plan and how Robert and Lieutenant John McBain saved her from sure demise and captivity. Later, Robert and Anna found the _real _Duke Lavery. Before they could escape, however, Robert heard a voice crying for help. He investigated, but was attacked. Anna found him bleeding and unconscious.

"So, we came back, after dropping Duke off at a hospital, of course," Robert said smugly, returning to sit in a chair. His wound was bandaged, and Patrick was impressed with Robert's precision. "We decided to come to you."

"Why?" Patrick asked. He enjoyed the story of yet another Scorpio adventure, but it was early and he was still yearning for his comfortable mattress. The sun was barely shining through the trees, which was too early to get up for Patrick, especially on his weekend.

"Well, Robert…he found…" Anna looked down, turning to Robert with a defeated look. "Robert, I don't think it's time. Not yet."

"What?" Patrick asked, growing nervous with every knowing glance Robert and Anna gave each other.

"Patrick," Robert leaned forward. "At the Swiss clinic, right before I was knocked out, I talked to her. She was as clear as crystal, right in front of me. I…I held her hand and I saw her and we spoke. She's alive."

"Who?" Patrick whispered in fear.

"Robin." Robert and Anna spoke at the same time.


	8. Malaise

Bloody Oath

General Hospital

Chapter eight

* * *

January 7, 2012—General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

Patrick returned solemnly to Ewen's office to find the ironically-retired psychiatrist asleep on the carpet floor, a book for a pillow. Next to him, on the ground, lay a pair of scissors. His chin was nicked and scratched in what Patrick could only guess was an attempt to shave.

He did not blame Ewen for sleeping. It was late that Monday evening. Mac and Felicia insisted on having Emma for the night, so Patrick did not feel the necessary requirement to go home as he usually did. Around nine thirty, after assisting Elizabeth and the rest of the nightshift professionals who were desperate for a break, he headed up towards the psych ward, hanging up his scrubs until his shift started the next day.

Ewen had once told Patrick of his constant, continuing fatigue. Patrick did not diagnose his pain, or even attempt to. He assumed the drowsiness was some odd side-effect of being undead.

Perhaps Ewen was some sort of realistic zombie.

"Ewen," Patrick knelt down beside the still Australian-born man and shook his shoulders lightly. "Ewen, it's me."

Twitching, Dr. Keenan jolted awake. He placed a hand immediately to his chest, taking in a deep breath. He did not seem to know Patrick was in the room. A second hand came up to rub the unruly cricks in his neck from the hardcover book he had been resting on. The same psychiatry textbook he had been reading days earlier.

Almost a little surprised his hand did not go through the dead man (although Patrick assumed he was immune to such things with Ewen, whom he could see and hear quite perfectly), Patrick helped the tired person into his regular chair. It was padded and soft, easy on Ewen's aching neck and body.

"Why don't you sleep in your chair?" Patrick asked, almost a little admonishingly. Ewen rubbed his eyes, sighing and leaning his elbows on his desk. His face hid behind his long, slender fingers for a moment. He mumbled something into his hands. "What?" Patrick frowned.

"I…I do sleep here." Ewen looked up. "I just had a strong desire to stretch out my legs."

Patrick nodded, setting down his first aid kit. "Listen, Ewen-"

"Promise me, when you get the chance, maybe when your daughter's older, you'll go with her and visit Australia. It's the most beautiful, serene place you'll ever visit. Australia's my home. I hardly spent a day indoors, always with my father outside. And now…well, my only light comes from fluorescents." Ewen interrupted, seemingly unknowingly. His eyes seemed glazed with lethargy and nostalgia. He took in another deep breath and rubbed his still compact chest. Albeit thinner, the remnants of his once fit and strong abdominals held on, shadowing their old form.

"Ewen," Patrick ignored his exhausted rambling. "I'm here to examine your bullet wound."

Ewen looked up, frowning. Slight fear etched his face, and his hand came to rest on the old, soiled bandage defensively. "Why are you helping me?" He spoke softly. "After all the pain I've caused you…what changed your mind?"

Patrick didn't say much. He looked away and opened his bag. "I'm going to need you to take off your shirt." He muttered, pulling on a pair of latex-free, blue gloves. Ewen complied, his fingers coming to unbutton his loose, bloodstained shirt. The thought finally occurred to him that he had been wearing the same clothes for almost five months. He had been wearing the same bandage for almost five months. There had been a bullet in him for almost five months, and the wound wasn't healing. It was as fresh as it had been since the day he died. He figured it was a side effect of dying, and then not dying. His body was frozen in some aspects. Other aspects, like his facial hair, were as alive as ever.

Coming to kneel in front of Ewen, Patrick's hands inspected the bandage. Ewen shied away, almost childlike in nature. In his death he had been reduced to a baby, Ewen realized angrily. Standing straighter, he sat up as Patrick began to probe the wrap on his sunken chest. His wound had bled through the bandage many times. With startling clarity, he could feel the bullet and any given moment, lodged into his flesh. The thought always made him slightly sick. Vivid details of the day he was shot rang through his mind, but the memory that plagued him the most was that of his death and his near encounter with the afterlife before he was rejected and thrown back down to Earth like used trash.

Finding the beginning of the binding, Patrick began to pull it off gently. "You know, the point of dressing is to provide a sterile environment for the wound." He muttered irritably.

"Yeah, well the wound was sterile four months ago." Ewen muttered, laughing nervously. Patrick grunted something unintelligent before removing the tape that held the bandage down. Instantly, Ewen cringed. "Please," he took a deep breath. "Just let it be. I know it's going to hurt."

"Close your eyes." Patrick said. "And I'll make this quick."

"What?"

"Close your eyes. Do it." Patrick pressed. Ewen slipped his eyes shut unknowingly, and, once Patrick had a secure hold on the bandage, he ripped it off.

"Bloody hell!" Ewen exclaimed, his hands balling into fists at his side. He bit his lip. "There's a reason you're not a nurse."

"Sorry. Most of my patients are under a lot of antibiotics before I begin to operate."

"Ah." Ewen let out a shaky breath.

"I would tell you to bite the bullet, however-" Patrick stopped, his eyes coming to rest on the wound before him. Dry blood and dead tissue surrounded the swollen, red wound. The bullet was easily visible, the source of the most pain. "Well," he took in a deep breath. "Ignore that last comment."

"I've been researching this…condition, you know." Ewen spoke through gritted teeth, looking anywhere but at the wound.

"Being dead?"

"No." Ewen snapped. "Sorry, I don't mean to yell."

"All right, then, what condition?"

"Malaise?" Ewen said. Patrick was too busy searching through his bag to respond. "The first indication is infection." He continued to no one in particular. "No wonder I'm always so tired, that's a symptom of malaise."

"Well-"

"Let's just pretend I'm right." Ewen held up an unsteady hand. "For my own sake. All I can do in this hospital is read."

"All right." Patrick laughed softly. "But-" Ewen groaned "-even if you're right, you're still…you know, dead. I'm not sure how much medicine or medical terms will do for you right now."

Ewen sat back, resigned. He let Patrick take a soapy, wet rag to his tender wound. The pain was immense, as well as a terrible relief. Patrick worked through Ewen's suppressed groans and curses, cleaning the wound and washing away signs of infection and germs. He used a pair of tweezers to remove lingering, dead tissue and caked, brown blood. Then, he went after the bullet.

Definitely not looking at the wound, Ewen decided rather to see if he could read the title of the book he had used as a pillow, which was still on the floor, positioned the same. Perhaps God had granted him with perfect eyesight in his second life.

He hadn't.

"Aha," Patrick grabbed a fresh towel, one that wasn't soaked in soap, water, and new blood, and took out the vicarious bullet. "There's the little devil." He slipped the bullet into a plastic bag and threw it into his medicine bag. He then reached for fresh gauze and dressing. "Would you like a wet or dry bandage?" He asked casually.

Ewen's eyes slipped open at the question. "Dry?" he shrugged.

"Wet it is. I wasn't going to give you a choice, anyway." Patrick poured some sterile water onto the white dressing and placed it over the pink wound. Ewen jolted at the cool water, muttering something authentically Australian. Laughing, Patrick held the wet dressing as he wrapped some gauze around Ewen's chest. "Here, hold this," he muttered to Ewen, who reached to hold the dressing in place. Patrick secured the bandage in place. "There," he nodded more to himself than Ewen. "You're good to go."

"Thank you," Ewen sighed. "Thank you very much."

"Do you want the bullet?" Patrick asked, raising his eyebrows mischievously. He held up the sleek object, soaked in his blood trapped in a Ziploc bag. "A memento from your assumed death?"

"Definitely not." Ewen shook his head. "Do what you want with it. I'd rather not see that again, if you don't mind."

"No problem." Patrick smiled and returned the bag to his duffel. He figured he might clean the bullet with some sterile water and look at it. Perhaps he could figure out Jason Morgan's bullet of choice, or however that worked. Patrick did not pretend to know how to use a gun.

"Why are you doing this?" Ewen asked as Patrick began to pack up. Patrick looked up, slipping off his gloves soundly and throwing them in the nearby trashcan.

"Doing what?"

"You know, helping me out. The last time we spoke we weren't really on the best terms."

Standing up, Patrick zipped his duffel closed. "I was wrong, before. I believe you now."

"Believe what?"

"You were right, Ewen." Patrick took in a deep breath, running a hand along his face. "About Robin. She's alive. Robin is alive and you and I are going to find her."


End file.
